


A Single Black Feather

by broodywolf



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:26:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6533365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broodywolf/pseuds/broodywolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lyna wakes in the night to find Zevran standing by the door, fully armored and holding his pack. She's certain she could talk him out of leaving, if only he would tell her why he has to.</p><p>Originally written for a prompt on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lyna blinked groggily, reaching an arm out to feel the empty space beside her on the bed, where Zevran should have been. She could have sworn she’d felt his lips against her cheek just a moment ago, and now he was gone?

The slightest motion in the shadows by the door caught her attention, and she glanced up. Zevran was fully armored, his small pack slung over his shoulder. His hand was on the doorknob, and he was toying with a single black feather between his fingers.

“Zev?” she asked, her insides going cold. “Zev, where are you going?”

He froze, keeping his back to her. “I meant to be gone before you awoke,” he said in a low voice. “Please, my Warden, do not make this any more difficult.”

“Harder than… Zev, you’re scaring me. Please just talk to me.”

He turned towards her slowly, his face a careful mask. “There is nothing I can say that will make this any easier. I… I must leave, and you cannot ask me why.”

“What…” Lyna whispered, staring at him as she processed his words. “ _Bullshit,_ Zev! There is nothing you can’t tell me; you know that! Just tell me what is going on and we’ll fix it _together_. Like we always do.”

Zevran gave a dull laugh that sounded too much like a sob. “Not this time, mi amor,” he said, reaching up to clutch her face with both hands, leaning his forehead against hers. He drew in a ragged breath and she wrapped her arms around him, rubbing soothing circles into his back with her thumb. Zevran surged forwards suddenly, crushing his lips to hers in a desperate, bruising kiss. She surrendered to it, giving him what he so obviously needed; she tried to quash the growing sense of unease—no, _dread—_ in her gut. At long last Zevran pulled back, breathing heavily. “Promise me you will not follow me.”

“No! Dammit, Zevran, tell me what is going on!”

“I cannot,” he said, and the look of pure remorse on his face had icy shards of fear creeping down her spine. “Do not follow me,” he ordered, in a voice that would have been deadly if not for the slight waver in it. He slid out of her grasp, stepping back towards the door—

“No!” she cried, grabbing him by the arm. She struggled to keep her voice even despite the hysterical sobs that threatened to overcome her. “Zev, please. Whatever this is, we can work through it together.”

“I wish that were so,” he murmured, and tried to pull his arm back. She refused to let go, and he turned back to her with a look laden with guilt and immeasurable sadness. “Do not make me do this,” he said in a low voice, drawing one of his daggers from its sheath.

“Zev,” she gasped, raising her hands but refusing to take a step back. She would not be afraid of him. “Please just talk to me.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered brokenly, backing towards the door. He turned the doorknob and began to ease the door open. Lyna rushed forwards, splaying her fingers on the door and slamming it shut. “Forgive me,” he said, and with a flick of his wrist his dagger nicked the soft skin of her forearm.

“What the fuck?” she said. “You think I’m going to let you leave like this just because you gave me a cut on the arm?” 

Zevran said nothing, but the terrible guilt in his eyes was enough of a tip-off. A moment later a wave of lightheadedness hit her, and she swayed uneasily on her feet.

“No,” she gasped as her vision went dim, greying at the edges. “Don’t do this,” she said, collapsing to her knees. She reached out towards him, clutching desperately at his sleeve. “Don’t do this to me. I love you. _Creators,_ I love you so much, you can’t….” Her vision went completely grey, and she gripped tighter at his sleeve. “Please, Zev,” she begged. “ _I love you_ …”

Her fingers slipped and she lost her hold on him as the world lurched and the ground came up to meet her.

“Te amo,” she thought she heard as her consciousness faded. “Te amo, te amo. I am so sorry, my Warden. _Mi vida_. _Forgive me._ ”


	2. Chapter 2

The sun was high in the sky by the time she woke, her head throbbing dully. She was in the bed, alone. _Alone._ It came back to her in a rush, memories a bit foggy. She leapt from the bed, ignoring the way her head swam. There was no _time._ She dressed in a rush, throwing her things haphazardly into her pack and rushing down the stairs.

“The man I was staying with,” she said to the innkeeper. “Elf, few inches taller than me, blond hair to his shoulders. Did you see him leave?”

“Might’ve done,” the man said, squaring his shoulders. Lyna thrust a sovereign into his hand.

“ _Tell me,”_ she demanded.

“Left last night in a rush. Looked mighty distraught, he did. Looked like he headed towards the docks. Doubt you’ll catch him, if he caught ship. Had a bit of a lie in, did ya?”

Lyna glared, but couldn’t waste any more time now that she had the information she needed. She turned her back on the innkeeper and rushed out the door.

\---

The docks were teeming with people. The odds of anyone having noticed Zevran in the bustling crowd seemed slim at best. Lyna could feel panic building in her throat, clawing at her chest. _She had to find him_. If she didn’t make it in time…

“You Lyna Mahariel?” an urchin sitting on the edge of the dock asked.

“How do you know my name?” she asked, eyes narrowing. Her hand twitched towards her bow.

“Man said you’d come. Said to give you this,” the boy said, handing her an envelope. He scampered off as she ripped it open.

_There is an abandoned warehouse three blocks from here. You will know it by the red door. Come, and come alone, or he dies._

The note was unsigned, but a single black feather fell out when she unfolded it. Her heart froze.

Lyna had no backup, no _plan_ , but she knew she couldn’t wait for either if she was to have a chance at this. She would probably be dead the second she opened the door, though, so she crept around the back of the warehouse, looking for a way in. She spotted it—an open window about ten feet off the ground. With the help of a handy crate, she scaled the wall easily enough. She perched in the window, surveying the inside of the warehouse.

Her eyes fell immediately on Zevran. _Creators._ Her heart clenched with fear and worry; he was strung between two columns, arms outstretched. His body was limp, head lolling forward. His bare torso was covered in blood, what she could see of his shoulders criss-crossed with angry red lines. Lyna feared the worst, but then—

He lifted his head, looking up at the man holding the whip, and spat. Lyna’s exasperation with Zevran for taunting the people torturing him was outweighed by her overwhelming relief that he was alive. She couldn’t dwell on it, though. They might notice her any second. She scanned the room again. Only five. That was lucky.She had the advantage of surprise, and high ground. She might be able to get two of them from here if she was quick enough; that left three once she jumped down into the warehouse. Those were good enough odds for her, and she had no time to waste. Silently, she drew her bow and notched an arrow, aiming carefully at one of the men standing in the shadows. He wouldn’t be as immediately noticed, especially if he died quietly, and it could buy her time.

She loosed the arrow, and it lodged itself in the man’s eye—and he let out a strangled cry as he fell. _Fuck._ Quickly she notched a second arrow, this time aiming for the man closest to Zev. The one who’d taken a whip to him.

“Stop,” the Crow said calmly, holding a dagger to Zevran’s throat. Lyna froze, easing the tension on her bow.

“Lyna, no!” Zevran gasped. “You promised me she would not be harmed,” he growled, struggling against the ropes holding him in place.

The Crow chuckled, grinning maliciously. “You didn’t _really_ think it would be that easy, did you? Turn yourself in, and we just leave your precious Grey Warden alone? You really have gone _soft.”_

“Please,” Zevran begged, “do whatever you like to me, just _let her go.”_

“Oh, trust me, we’ll get back to you. But you see, you need to be made an example of. Just killing you won’t quite cut it, even if we do make it _excruciatingly_ painful. After all, what is pain to a Crow? No, first you get to watch the woman you love die. _Slowly.”_

“ _No!”_ Zevran screamed, and she saw a faint red line slice across his neck where he struggled against the dagger held there. Lyna’s heart was pounding in her chest. She had to do something, and she had to be _fast_ if they were to have any chance of getting out of this alive. This would be risky, but it was that or accept that they would both die. And that was something she would not— _could_ not—accept.

She took a deep breath, lowering her bow slightly as if to surrender. The crow grinned, easing up just slightly the knife on Zevran’s neck.

“See? At least your Fereldan bitch knows reason.”

In one fluid motion Lyna raised her bow again, drawing it back and letting her arrow fly.

It struck the man in the chest. He fell to his knees—not dead. Before the Crow archers could get a shot off, she tucked into a roll, discarding her bow in favor of her daggers. One of the remaining Crows lunged at her and she sidestepped, using his momentum to drive her dagger up through his ribs. The second one was less hasty, circling slowly with her own daggers raised. Lyna kept her eyes forward, though in her peripheral vision she could see the other assassin approaching from behind her. She kept her eyes on the assassin in front of her until the last second, when she pulled a small knife from her belt, turning quickly on her toes and throwing it, just as Zevran had shown her. The man clutched at the blade protruding from his throat as he fell. Lyna turned back around just in time to parry a strike from the first assassin. They fell into a deadly dance, circling each other, testing defenses, neither able to gain the advantage. Lyna managed to spot an opening, though, and was about to strike when—

“Hey!”

She turned towards the voice. The man who’d had the whip was holding his dagger to Zevran’s throat, her arrow still lodged in his chest. He was breathing heavily, his lips stained with blood, but he stood firm. “Fucking _bitch._ Drop your weapons, or I _will_ slit his throat this time.”

Lyna’s eyes darted back and forth between the two remaining Crows. She kept her daggers raised, one extended towards each of them. Zevran caught her gaze, and gave her a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. Looking more closely, she realized that one of his wrists was no longer bound; his hand was bloodied but free, and he held the rope taut so no one had noticed. She inclined her head just slightly in acknowledgement.

“Okay,” she said, voice level. She raised her hands in appeasement, bending slowly as though to deposit her daggers on the ground. The assassin stepped towards her and in one fluid motion Lyna stood, whirling around to drive both daggers through the woman’s stomach and up into her ribcage. She yanked them free, turning back towards Zevran before the woman had even hit the ground.

Zev was slumped over the final Crow; neither was moving, and for a moment her heart stopped. Then she heard a low groan—a miraculously, wonderfully _familiar_ groan—and she rushed forward, quickly slashing through the remaining rope tying Zevran and falling to her knees at his side.

“ _Zev,_ ” she breathed.

“Lyna,” he gasped as he pushed himself off the dead crow. She reached for him, trying to help him sit up without hurting the mess of wounds that was his back. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I—oh, _Zev_ ,” she said as he looked up and she really saw his face. His nose was badly broken, his left eye swollen and bruised. There was blood _everywhere._ Lyna continued her examination and gasped when she saw the red line across his throat. “Shit—”

“It’s fine,” he said. “Not deep. It just bleeds.”

“It—no _shit_ it bleeds. Creators, Zevran, I thought I… _I thought I’d lost you_ ,” she said, the words coming out in a rush as she gently cradled his face in her hands. She choked back a sob but was unable to stop the tears streaming down her face.

“Shh, _mi vida._ I have survived worse, hm? And that was without the benefit of such lovely company during my convalescence,” he murmured.

“Shouldn’t I be comforting _you?”_ Lyna asked.

“Ah, but you do comfort me,” Zevran said with a grin, his words coming out a bit slurred.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you out of here.”


	3. Chapter 3

They made it as far as an alleyway a few blocks from the warehouse before Zevran stumbled and slumped limply against her.

“Zev?”

No answer.

She carried him to the end of the alley, where they might at least remain out of sight if there were any remaining Crows about. She lowered him gently, holding him in a sitting position to keep his back off the ground. She rummaged in her pack and pulled out all the poultices and elfroot potions they had, as well as a small vial of hartshorn which she uncorked and held under Zevran’s nose. He gasped, eyes flying open as he coughed at the unpleasant odor. She corked it again.

“Stay with me, Zev,” she said, gently cradling his face in one hand. A broken groan was his only response, but his eyes stayed open and trained on hers. “I need you to drink this.”

His fingers wrapped around the potion, but his grip was shaky, so she helped him bring the bottle to his lips. When he’d drained it, she turned her attention to his back. Creators, but it was a mess. She struggled to remain calm as she unstoppered a skin of water to clean the wounds to the best of her ability. It wasn’t enough, there was no way it would be enough. She’d never treated injuries this extensive; she had a decent grasp of field medicine, she’d had to learn it, but it was only ever temporary. They would have to seek out a healer. All she could do for now was to patch him up and hope for the best. She grabbed the stack of poultices and began applying them to his ravaged back, wrapping bandages over them to hold them in place.

“Still with me?” she asked.

“Sí, amor.”

“We’re going to have to find a healer. This is more than I can treat on my own.”

“ _No.”_

Zevran’s voice was adamant, his hand suddenly gripping her wrist with a strength he hadn’t possessed a moment before.

“What do you mean, _no?_ I’m not just going to sit here and watch you die!”

“Not going to die, mi vida,” Zevran said, though the pained gasp he let out when she began dabbing at the cut across his neck somewhat betrayed his attempt to comfort her. “The Crows,” he offered by way of explanation. “Five is… too few. We cannot linger here, and we definitely cannot place our lives in the hands of a stranger.”

Lyna sighed and nodded, even as fear gripped her heart. She didn’t know how far Zevran would make it without a healer’s attentions. She started going over calculations in her head. They were on the outskirts of Wycome, weaving their way up towards Antiva, but… they’d have to turn around. Zevran needed a healer, but wouldn’t trust a stranger—so she’d just have to seek out a healer they could trust.

When Zevran was bandaged as thoroughly as she could manage, she carefully slipped a shirt over his shoulders and eased his arms into the sleeves. It worried her how little he was able to help with the task. She led him out of the alleyway, eventually giving up and lifting him over her shoulder. She could not afford to waste time.

\---

The road to Kirkwall was hard. It was lucky that Lyna was able to buy them a horse, or she was sure they never would have made it in time. The first week went well enough, falling into a tense rhythm of riding, watching Zevran, making camp. It quickly became clear, though, that the wounds were becoming infected just as she had feared. She tried to ration what was left of their supplies, giving him sips of healing potion at regular intervals, but it wasn’t enough. He grew weaker each day as the fever set in; his regularly golden brown skin was ashen and far too pale. She rode faster, pushing the horse as much as she dared. At night she held Zevran close, sharing body heat as he shook with chills.

It was another week and then some before they finally reached Kirkwall. She stabled the horse at the edge of the city, pulling Zevran over her shoulders and continuing on foot. She asked directions of the first person she found, who gave her a very perplexed look when she said she was looking for Darktown.

Lyna rushed down more and more steps, finally arriving in what must be Darktown. She stopped to ask directions again, this time inquiring after the healer. The half-starved looking elf nodded knowingly and pointed, telling her to look for the lantern. Lyna pressed a sovereign into the girl’s hand and hurried off in the direction specified. When at last the distant lantern came into her sight, she couldn’t even breathe a sigh of relief—Zevran was too pale, too still in her arms. The infrequent noises of pain he’d been making had stopped. She was— _no._ She wouldn’t be too late. She couldn’t be.

She threw open the door, panicking for a moment when she didn’t see familiar strawberry blond hair.

“Anders!” she cried, looking around desperately. _Creators, Anders, please be here. Don’t do this to me._

“Commander?”

The voice came from behind a ratty curtain, and a moment later Anders stepped through, dressed in just his pants and tunic, hair loose about his face.

“Shit,” he muttered, and she could see his healer’s instincts kick in as he rushed towards them, gesturing for her to lay Zevran on one of the cots. “What happened?”

“Crows,” she spat, sinking to the floor beside the cot and taking one of Zevran’s hands in her own.

“When?”

“Two and a half weeks. I bandaged him up the best I could, but he wouldn’t let me take him to a healer. Not one we couldn’t trust. I got us here as fast as I could, but it started getting infected, and we only had so many potions and I didn’t know what to do—”

“Shh,” Anders said, calming her as he ran hands limned in blue over Zevran’s body, gauging the extent of his injuries. “It’s going to be alright. He’s lost a lot of blood, but most of the injuries are superficial. The hardest thing is coaxing the infection from his system.”

“You can, though? Tell me you can do it, Anders. Shit, I can’t… _I can’t lose him.”_

“Are you doubting me, Commander?” Anders quipped. “Sorry. Um, not the time. I know.”

Lyna let out a weak laugh. “As if I could ever doubt you.”

Anders was quiet for a moment as he worked, and Lyna watched Zevran’s flesh knit itself back together under his hands. Lyna lifted Zevran’s hand to her lips, tears running slowly down her face.

“You really love him, don’t you?” Anders’ voice was soft, almost sad.

“You’re just now figuring that out?”

“No, of course not. It’s just… I’m glad. It’s good that you have someone.”

Lyna looked up at him, registering the too-sharp angles of his shoulders and elbows under the threadbare tunic, the deep circles under his eyes. Her heart broke for her old friend.

“There’s someone out there for you, too, Anders,” she said with certainty. How could there not be? Life had done nothing but take from Anders, and yet he had so much to _give._

“I’m not so certain,” Anders said. Before Lyna could respond, the blue glow emanating from Anders’ hands brightened, a look of concentration on his face as he seemed to _pull_ against the thin air above Zevran’s prone form, and—

“Nngh, what happened?”

Thick and slurred though the words were, Lyna had never been so happy to hear that familiar voice. She threw herself at Zevran, winding her arms around his neck and sobbing into his shoulder.

“Careful!” Anders said. “I’ve healed everything I can, but he’ll still be quite sore, and the fever will have left him weak.”

“Anders?” Zevran mumbled through the curtain of Lyna’s hair.

“The one and only.”

Any further words Zevran might have spoken were cut off as Lyna lifted her head from his shoulder and claimed his lips in a desperate kiss. She was only faintly aware of Anders retreating back into the other room past the curtain as Zevran tugged at her waist and she complied, scrambling up fully onto the cot with him. She cradled his face reverently in her hand, leaning up to look into his eyes.

“You _bastard,”_ she said, though the venom in her words was somewhat dispelled when she followed them with another kiss. “How could you do that to me? _Mierda!_ I thought… Creators, Zev, I thought I was going to lose you,” she hissed before kissing him again, pouring all of her worry and grief into the desperate press of their lips.

“Cursing in Antivan now, hm? I really am rubbing off on you,” Zevran said, gently caressing the curve of her hip.

“Now is _not_ the time, Zevran!” she spat, glaring at him. “No changing the subject. How could you do that to me? You left! After all this time, how could you just—”

“Braska,” Zevran whispered, shutting his eyes forcefully. After a moment, Lyna realized he was trying to blink back tears. “I am sorry,” he said, his voice wavering as he opened his eyes to look up at her with eyes that shone with tears. “I am so sorry, Lyna. I could not… When the Crows contacted me, when they threatened you if I did not come… it felt inevitable. I am an assassin, a son of a whore, what did I ever do to deserve this? Nothing. I gave myself up. I played right into their hands, fool that I am.”

“Not foolish,” Lyna said.

“Oh? How is it not foolish, to do exactly what the Crows wished me to do, even when I knew better?”

“Okay, so it was foolish. Completely boneheaded, actually. But do you think I would not do exactly the same thing, if they threatened you?” He stared up at her, eyebrow raised, so she continued. “And then you would come to my rescue, just as I did for you.”

“Lyna. _Mi vida,”_ Zevran said with the beginnings of a smile. “I do not deserve you.”

“I have to disagree with you on that one. Believe what you will, though; it doesn’t change the fact that I am here and I am not going anywhere.”

Zevran’s hands tightened over her hips, and Lyna leaned down to kiss him again.

“I have to say, though, that while I will always come for you if you decide to pull something like this again, it would save us both rather a lot of grief and pain if you would just _tell me_ when you receive threats from the damn Crows! Void take you, Zevran, I thought you would have realized by now that we are _partners,_ in this and in everything!” Lyna fumed, one hand pressed against his chest as she pinned him with a glare.

“It is not a mistake I will make again. Or perhaps I shall. You do make me very foolish, after all,” Zevran said with a warm look that melted her thin attempt at being stern with him.

Lyna collapsed against him with a sigh. “I’m just glad you’re okay. Shit, I was so worried, Zev,” she said, words muffled against his neck as she pressed gentle kisses there.

“Speaking of being foolish…” Zevran said, trailing off suggestively as his hands slid over her hips, pulling her against him.

“Zevran, you’re _healing!”_ Lyna said. “Not half an hour ago you were unconscious and pale as a sheet. I had to carry you in here!”

“Yes, but our friend Anders is a _very_ good healer. I assure you I am quite well,” Zevran said with a grin, pulling her down to him so he could press his lips against her pulse, trailing enticingly down her neck.

“Yes, and Anders is also _in the next room._ Which, I might add, is separated from this one by a _curtain.”_

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before,” Anders said, re-entering the room. “But lucky for you, I have to go meet Hawke. Nothing too strenuous,” he added, pointing a finger at Zevran and glaring at both of them. “If anything hurts, or if you feel weak, _stop.”_

“Yes, ser,” Zevran said with a wicked grin. Lyna rolled her eyes.

“Sorry, Anders,” she said.

“Don’t worry, this clinic’s seen worse. Will you be here when I get back?” Anders asked.

“Probably. The journey here was… well, we could both use some rest. If that’s alright?”

“Of course. I’ll see you later, then,” Anders said with a smile, turning towards the exit.

“Anders?” Lyna called after him.

He turned back with a questioning look. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, Commander.”

With that, he was gone. Lyna looked back down at Zevran, who was still grinning smugly at her.

“Zev—”

“He didn’t say _no,_ he just said nothing strenuous. Which simply means you have to be on top, _bella,”_ he said, grin broadening.

“You are insufferable,” she said.

“You say ‘you are insufferable,’ but what I’m hearing is _‘yes’.”_

“You know I can’t resist,” Lyna said with a laugh, a lightness in her chest she would not have thought possible an hour before.

“Truly, you cannot be blamed. Two people as irresistible as us, it is a miracle we ever manage to keep our clothes on around each other.”

Lyna laughed again, carding her fingers through his hair. “I love you, Zev. So much it terrifies me sometimes.”

“Lyna,” he murmured, pulling her down to kiss her with a tenderness that had her blinking back fresh tears. “ _Mi amor. Mi corazón. Mi vida._ I am not going anywhere.”

Even though he had very nearly been lost to her, she couldn’t help but believe the words when he said them. Next time the Crows came for them, they would be ready. They would face it together, and they would prevail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished this! Hope you liked it. Feel free to find me on tumblr: broodywolf.tumblr.com


End file.
